


The Gates of Hell

by noydb666 (Elynittria)



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Dark, M/M, non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-27
Updated: 2005-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elynittria/pseuds/noydb666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lister's nightmares pose a threat to himself and Rimmer. Takes place in Series 6, sometime after "Legion."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to HP Lovecraft for playing in his universe.

_He was running down an infinite corridor in total darkness. The black walls seemed to be closing in on him, the air seemed too thick, and there was a noise like the beating of massive wings resounding through the cavernous city. The extreme sense of urgency he felt drove him onward. His arms tightened on the treasures he held, worried lest he drop them before they were needed. A buzzing, voiceless something in his mind called to him. He was very near his goal._

Suddenly he was standing in front of a vast, stone-arched doorway. It was sealed, but he had the keys. He shifted the treasures in his arms, getting ready to place them in their proper places. He lifted them up and saw them as if for the first time: Rimmer's severed head and bloody, lifeless heart.

* * *

Lister's screams jolted Rimmer awake. "Wha-? Lister? What's wrong?" He jumped out of bed and moved quickly to Lister's bunk. Lister was still asleep, curled up in a trembling ball and whimpering softly. Concerned, Rimmer reached over and gently shook Lister's shoulder. "Come on, Listy. Wake up! It's just another nightmare!"

Lister's eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly in the bed. "Rimmer!" he snarled. "Get the hell away from me!"

Rimmer recoiled from the harshness of the command, but didn't leave Lister's side. "It was a dream," he said soothingly. "Just like last night and the night before that...." He was seriously worried about Lister's state of mind. Something was obviously bothering him, as indicated by the frequency and intensity of these nightmares. But Lister refused to talk about it, denying that anything was wrong.

Rimmer sighed and tried again: "Lister, _talk_ to me. You can't just keep going on like this. Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help." He knew that the probability of his being able to help was very small, but he wanted to try anyway. _Please let me in, Listy._

"You can't help, you imbecile!" snapped Lister. "Not now, at any rate," he added under his breath. "Just go away and leave me alone. I'm tired of your whiny voice, I'm tired of your make-believe concern—I'm tired of _you_."

The words hurt, but Rimmer was used to that. It had been a while since Lister had been so openly hostile toward him, however. Rimmer had thought they'd managed to attain a sort of friendship after all these years together, but the barely veiled hostility that Lister exhibited toward him nowadays seemed to prove that assumption wrong.

A glance at the illuminated clock on the wall informed Rimmer that it was almost time for his and Lister's shift at _Starbug_'s controls. He stood up reluctantly, looking down at his roommate's tense figure. "I'm leaving," he said quietly. "But I think you ought to talk to _someone_. Your shift begins in fifteen minutes, by the way." With that, he left their quarters.

* * *

Rimmer sat alone at his console in the cockpit, mulling matters over in his mind while he waited for Lister to show up. He wondered what he had done to piss Lister off so thoroughly—other than merely existing, that is. But he was coming up blank. They hadn't had an out and out fight for a while, and Lister had actually seemed happy for him when Legion had given him a hard-light body not so very long ago. So when, and why, had things changed?

Lister's nightmares seemed to hold the clue. They had begun several weeks ago, the night after the crew had responded to a distress signal that had turned out to be coming from a small ship drifting in space. The ship had been of Earth origin, but exceedingly old—it looked as if it had been built in the early twenty-first century, at the dawn of manned travel within the earth's solar system.

They had boarded the old ship more out of curiosity than out of the hope of finding any survivors or useful supplies. In retrospect, it had been a bad idea. The ship's hull had been intact, but the interior had been a practically non-negotiable jungle of debris, with jagged pieces of metal and thickets of cables preventing any real movement. What was worse was the overpowering, unwholesome smell. A fetid odor hung heavily in the air, seeming to originate from a sticky, greenish-yellow substance that coated most of the floor and surface areas. A faint vibration made the deck shiver under their feet now and again, although that should have been totally impossible because the ship's engines were long dead.

Cat had complained loudly about the goo and the smell, insisting that they needed to leave before his suit and shoes were totally ruined. The others had quickly agreed, nauseated by the smell and disturbed in some indefinable way by the ship. As they had turned to go, Lister's eye had been caught by something in the wreckage, which he quickly unearthed and tucked under his arm before they all departed in haste from the eerie derelict.

Back on board _Starbug,_ the crew had examined the object Lister had retrieved. It consisted of a spherical stone set on a dark-green stone base—almost like a crystal ball, except that the stone was as black as onyx, with striations of green running through it. It was heavier than its size suggested, so the stone must have been quite dense. But what was really odd about the object was that from some angles, it didn't seem spherical at all, but rather seemed to be constructed of impossible angles and of surfaces that were simultaneously convex and concave. After some discussion, they had decided that these strange shifts were optical illusions of some sort.

Kryten had scanned the sphere and stated that the material of which it was made wasn't onyx—in fact, it was no type of stone so far cataloged by man. Kryten had asked Lister to let him have the object for a while to study, but Lister had picked it up and possessively hugged it to his chest, stating that it was his because he had found it. The others had shrugged and let the matter drop. After all, it was only an art object or a glorified paperweight and obviously of no practical use to anyone.

That night, Rimmer had been awakened by Lister talking loudly in his sleep. Rimmer had been sitting up in his bunk, trying to clear his sleep-fogged mind and figure out what had disturbed his rest, when Lister spoke again. "Cthulhu fhtagen," he had said in a deep, raspy whisper totally unlike his usual voice. The words made no sense to Rimmer, but the uncanny voice made him shiver. He hesitatingly got up and approached Lister, who seemed to be outlined in a greenish glow. "The portal..." gasped Lister in his normal voice, still sound asleep. Then, "_No!_"

When Rimmer shook Lister's shoulder to waken him, Lister had woken up fighting. A flailing fist caught Rimmer in the jaw and snapped his head back. "Lister, stop!" he implored, trying to calm Lister down. "It's me, Rimmer! I didn't mean to startle you, but you were having a nightmare."

Lister had stared at him uncomprehendingly, then rolled over and gone back to sleep without a word. The greenish glow had vanished, if indeed it had ever really been there. In the morning, Lister had denied having any nightmares, or indeed any memories of being woken up by Rimmer, and he had laughed when Rimmer told him about the strange words he had said. "That's a good one, Rimmer. Next you'll be telling me I'm levitating in me sleep and making the beds shake."

Well, Rimmer thought, he _had_ been awfully groggy when he was awakened. Maybe it had been him who was dreaming, not Lister, and the strange words and green glow were simply the products of his imagination. But the all-too-real bruise on his jaw seemed to argue otherwise.

* * *

After Rimmer had left their quarters, Lister sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He didn't get up, however; rather, he remained sitting in silence on the bed, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.

His brain felt funny. He knew that was a totally inadequate way to describe what he was currently experiencing, but it was the truth. He wasn't sure what was real any more. The strange dreams were becoming more and more vivid, and his thoughts and actions during the times he believed he was awake were becoming fuzzier. Had he just ordered Rimmer to stay away from him? He honestly didn't know. It didn't make any sense, though—he didn't want Rimmer to leave. Without the hologram's comforting presence, he felt lost and alone—utterly vulnerable.

There was something wrong with him, Lister vaguely recognized. He desperately wanted to talk with the others to try to figure out what it was and to stop it, but somehow he never seemed to get around to it. His reactions to Rimmer bothered him the most. He could see the concern in Rimmer's eyes when the hologram looked at him, and it touched him. He wanted to confide in him, but lately whenever his thoughts ran along those lines, his mind and heart would be suddenly filled by virulent hatred and he would lash out mercilessly at his friend, mocking him and uttering venomous words meant to wound as deeply as possible. Why? He didn't hate Rimmer—not anymore...

And then there were the dreams. Every night, he wandered in dark, gigantic cities filled with strange, windowless buildings, odd noises, and a sense of nameless dread. Someone in the city seemed to be calling to him. A soundless voice formed sinister, insanity-inducing visions and words in his mind—words that he could understand in the dreams but that vanished from memory and understanding upon waking. The voice was growing clearer and louder day by day, and Lister thought that if he ever heard it when he was awake, then he would know he had gone utterly mad.

His eyes wandered to the black sphere. It seemed reassuringly solid—more so than the rest of the contents of the room and of his mind. It was something to grab onto to halt his free fall into madness. He moved over to it so he could stare intensely into its depths. As he sat focusing his entire being on the object, it began to glow with a faint, sickly green luminosity. The pupils of Lister's eyes widened to their maximum extent, and his mouth fell slightly open. When at last he came back to himself, he had no awareness of how much time had passed or what he had been thinking of. _I'm gonna be late for me shift,_ he told himself automatically. _Better get goin'._

* * *

Lister wandered into the cockpit about ten minutes late for his shift. He paused beside the navi-comp for a moment, his hand reaching out to its console.

"Don't touch that, Lister!" Rimmer cautioned him. "Kryten just programmed it for a course that he thinks might intercept _Red Dwarf_'s trail, so we shouldn't mess around with the settings."

Lister turned to face Rimmer. "Oh, like _you_ know anything about navigation," he sneered. "Don't worry, you insignificant piece of detritus—I'm not about to do anything to your toys. _Aa-shanta 'nygh! Iä Nyarlothotep!_"

Rimmer stared back at him, shocked by Lister's waking use of an unknown language, not to mention the word 'detritus,' which he didn't think was in Lister's vocabulary. Lister didn't look at all well: He was pale, with dark rings under his eyes. His pupils seemed wider than normal, and Rimmer thought he detected a greenish glint deep within them. A fine tremor shook Lister's tense frame, and he looked as if he were close to snapping under some unknown strain.

"Er, say again, please?" Rimmer finally managed to say.

"You what?" Lister replied, confused. "I didn't say anything."

Rimmer felt that it was best not to argue at the moment, so he mumbled "Never mind" and returned his attention to his console. Lister swung himself into the pilot's chair and began humming, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Rimmer waited a few moments, then informed Lister that he was going to check something elsewhere in the Bug. Lister grunted in reply, and Rimmer left, making a beeline for the kitchen and Kryten.

* * *

Kryten stopped his food preparations to listen to Rimmer's inventory of the strange things Lister had done recently, but he didn't seem inclined to give Rimmer's vague fears much consideration. "If anything's wrong with Mr. Lister, it's probably from the stress of being confined within _Starbug_ for so long, sir," he argued. "I haven't noticed anything that I would call unusual."

"You wouldn't notice if Lister turned into a giant dishwasher, Kryten," growled Rimmer. "Believe me, something's wrong! Could you at least _listen_ to the weird language he's been using? It's definitely not Esperanto, and it's no other language I've ever heard, either."

"If you insist, I'll try to identify the language," Kryten finally acquiesced. "Just let me know some days and times that I should access on the black box in order to hear Mr. Lister speaking this language."

* * *

In the cockpit, Lister turned around to double-check that he was alone. Seeing that he was, he went over to the navi-comp and quickly input a new course, taking care to adjust the readings so that his intervention would not be immediately noticeable. He then glided back to his seat and was busy piloting when Cat entered and joined him as co-pilot.

* * *

After breakfast, Kryten pulled Rimmer aside. "I've discovered some information regarding those words, sir, if you have a moment."

Rimmer glanced around. Lister and Cat had gone back to the cockpit and were out of earshot, so he nodded. "Go ahead."

"There's absolutely nothing to worry about. The words come from an imaginary language created by the early twentieth-century American horror writer H.P. Lovecraft."

"A horror writer? With a name like that, he should have written porn!" Rimmer muttered.

Ignoring him, Kryten continued with his explanation: "Lovecraft posited the existence of a race of monstrous beings, known as the Elder Gods or the Old Ones, who had dwelt on Earth before life began there. These beings supposedly came from the abysses of interstellar space, possibly from a different dimension or different space-time continuum. They were banished by a greater race eons before man evolved.

"Lovecraft's stories concerned the Elder Gods' continued efforts to return to power on Earth from their places of exile, many of which were beneath the surface of the Earth itself. Cthulhu, for example, was said to be 'sleeping' in an undead, unalive state in the sunken city of R'lyeh beneath Earth's oceans. Another name mentioned by Mr. Lister was 'Nyarlathotep,' who is referred to by Lovecraft as 'the crawling chaos' or 'the horror of infinite shapes.' He is supposedly another one of these ancient beings, although his whereabouts were not pinpointed by Lovecraft.

"So you see, Mr. Lister has simply been reading too much overwrought speculative fiction while being under too much stress. When he tries to rest, his mind seizes on what he has read as material for his anxieties. There's nothing to worry about—all Mr. Lister needs is a holiday."

Rimmer was not that easily persuaded, however. "Why did he use that language this morning in the cockpit, then? He was awake, and he sounded like he was talking to me, not just repeating something he read in a book. Come to think of it, when has Lister ever read a book?"

"No doubt he's playing a practical joke on you, sir. My advice is to either ignore it or play along. It's your choice."

Rimmer didn't agree with Kryten's assessment, but for the moment there was nothing else for him to do except keep an eye on Lister and hope that the nightmares and odd behavior would end.

* * *

The night passed slowly for Rimmer. He stayed awake, listening to the words that escaped from Lister's lips and fighting his impulse to awaken his roommate and free him from the nightmare's grip. He didn't glean much new information from his vigil. Once again he caught a reference to Cthulhu, and he was pretty sure he heard the phrase "the stars are right," but most of what Lister said was in that strange, guttural language. Toward morning, Rimmer finally succumbed to a worried sleep.

* * *

Rimmer awoke with a start in the afternoon. He had overslept, and none of the others had bothered to wake him up for his shift. Annoyed, he hastily showered and changed and headed to the cockpit. He was about to complain to the others about being ignored when he noticed the view—or rather, lack of one—out the cockpit window. A vast blackness filled the screen and blotted out the usual background of stars.

"What in Io is that?" he gasped, falling into the chair at his station.

"An S3 planet," replied Cat. "I personally don't like the smell of it, but the sensors says there's no life on it."

"It does seem to have some vegetable growth, however," Kryten noted. "We may be able to find something edible that we can collect and store."

"But it looks like we're going to crash right into it!" Rimmer protested in a high-pitched voice. "Who's piloting this thing, anyway?"

Lister looked back at him. "We're not gonna crash—I have everything under control. The planet's so big in comparison to us that it just looks like we're headin' right into it. We should be able to land in about half an hour."

Cat shook his head. "I'm not going on a crop-harvesting trip. That would ruin my manicure. Plus, I have suits that need designing and fixing."

Kryten was about to protest, but Lister stopped him. "That's fine, Cat. We don't need you on this expedition, anyway."

"Thanks, bud!" Cat grinned.

* * *

The planet surface was rocky and rather bleak where Starbug had landed, but there was definitely some sort of field and the beginnings of a forest at the foot of a huge mountain in the near distance. Kryten, Rimmer, and Lister set out in the mountain's direction, enjoying the fresh air and the wide, open space. Walking briskly, they reached their goal in about fifteen minutes.

Kryten wanted to investigate the field, but Lister headed purposefully up a small path on the mountain's side. Rimmer shrugged at Kryten and turned to follow Lister, almost having to run to catch up with him.

"Lister?" Rimmer called a moment later. "Where did you go?" He had seen Lister disappear behind some massive rocks as the path they were on turned at a sharp angle, but when he had negotiated the narrow turn himself, Lister was nowhere in sight.

Then he heard Lister's voice calling him. He and Kryten soon saw Lister emerging from a narrow crack in the rock face of the mountain. "This way," Lister indicated, disappearing inside the crack again. Rimmer felt uneasy at the narrowness of the entrance and wondered whether the planet was prone to earthquakes, but he followed Kryten inside. The narrow path soon widened and ended in a fairly large underground chamber. Lister was there, examining the room's only contents: a vast wooden door with a steel latch set into the side of the cave, and a plaque made of onyx-like stone that hung on the wall nearby.

Rimmer and Kryten joined him, examining the plaque. The inscription on it seemed to be written in two languages: a hieroglyphic one, and one that used the more familiar Latin alphabet. "What's it say?" Rimmer asked after he had tried and failed to puzzle out the words.

"It's in ancient Italian," replied Kryten. "Or at least, the part that I can read is. I don't recognize the hieroglyphic language at all. It's not Egyptian, at any rate . . . "

"Kryten! Just read it!" Rimmer said in exasperation.

"Very well, sir. Translation mode on. It says:
    
    
    I am the way into the doleful city  
        I am the way into eternal grief,  
        I am the way to a forsaken race.
    
    Before me, nothing but eternal things  
        Were made, and I shall last eternally.  
        Abandon every hope, all ye who enter.

"Very interesting, sirs. These are lines from Dante's _Inferno_—specifically, the inscription on the gates of hell."

Rimmer gulped audibly. "Yes. Well. Very interesting. I think it's time to go harvest some crops, don't you think?" He turned for the exit and was ready to high-tail it out of the chamber when Lister caught his arm.

"Hang on, Rimmer. This could be important. There might be something we could use in there—some way to get back home."

"Whoever wrote that inscription seemed to think it was a good idea to stay on _this_ side of the door," Rimmer pointed out. "I don't think we should just ignore their warning."

"It may not mean anything," Kryten said. "It could be the equivalent of 'Here be dragons' on a medieval map. Still, I would advise going back to the Bug for torches and bazookoids before entering."

Rimmer was rapidly starting to panic. "Don't tell me you two idiots actually _want_ to go for a jaunt in hell!? Are you absolutely insane? Don't you ever watch movies? People who ignore warnings like this always end up dead!" He began to hyperventilate, which forced him to stop arguing.

Lister just looked at him and smiled—a twisted, grotesque, totally un-Listerlike smile that caused Rimmer's simulated heart to skip several beats. "Death's the point, Rimmer," he hissed into the hologram's ear. Then he suddenly slammed back the massive steel latch and kicked open the door, pulling Rimmer through the doorway with him into total blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Kryten lunged forward in an attempt to follow Lister and Rimmer through the doorway, only to find his way blocked by an immovable object. Picking himself up off the ground, Kryten moved forward to examine the wall through which he had just tried to pass. The door was gone, as was the inscribed plaque. All that remained was the blank rock face. Kryten tried knocking on the wall where the door had been, looking for cracks that might indicate an entranceway, and yelling for Lister or Rimmer to reopen the door, all to no avail. It was as if the door—and his crewmates—had never existed.

Not willing to give up, Kryten decided to investigate the surrounding area. Perhaps there was another chamber that also had a doorway. If he didn't find anything soon, then he would return to _Starbug_ and get Cat to help in the search.

* * *

On the other side of the door, Rimmer and Lister had emerged into nothingness. There was no floor under their feet, no ceiling above their heads—just cold, dark emptiness that took one's breath away and defied the mind's attempt to comprehend it. And then, just as suddenly, they felt a solid surface beneath their feet again.

Rimmer immediately bent over and took a few deep breaths, hands on knees, in an attempt to steady himself and conquer his sense of impending doom. When he straightened up, he peered into the darkness, which was now dimly illuminated by an eldritch violet light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. He and Lister were standing on an immense circular stone staircase that stretched above and below them, its steps becoming lost to view as they vanished into the distant shadows. On one side, it was bordered by a black stone wall; on the other, it was open to the surrounding abyss. The scale of the staircase dwarfed the two humans, adding to the sense of vulnerability Rimmer felt.

He glanced fearfully at Lister, hoping not to be treated to that terrible facsimile of a smile again. Surprisingly, Lister also looked fearful and confused. "Rimmer," he said urgently, grabbing his friend's arm. "You gotta help me. That thing keeps taking over me mind. I don't know how much longer it'll be before I can't get back."

"What thing? Back from where?" asked Rimmer desperately. He wanted to help with all his heart, but he had no clue what Lister was talking about.

"Nyarlathotep," answered Lister.

"But he's a fictional character," Rimmer protested.

"I only wish he were. He—it—is taking over. First I only heard it when I was asleep, during me dreams. But now... I can feel it trying to regain control, hear its voice in me head. It's awful, Rimmer—I can feel meself slipping away and becoming a worthless bit of nothing in its sick mind. I can't live like this! Please, I'm beggin' ya, help me!" Lister became increasingly agitated as he tried to describe the desperate battle going on between his own individuality and the dark, powerful mind of the entity known as Nyarlathotep. If he didn't win, he knew that his own mind would be blotted out of existence forever, even if his body lived on as a shell.

"I will—I promise, I will," Rimmer blurted out, trying to calm Lister down. He didn't know how he could possibly stop whatever was happening to Lister, but he was damn well going to try. "First, I suggest we get the hell out of here! Come on, the exit has to be up these stairs!"

The pair began running up the staircase, slipping and stumbling as they scaled the cyclopean steps. As they ran, they became aware of a scrabbling sound emanating from the black stone wall encircling the staircase. It sounded like rats tunneling through the walls. Rimmer shuddered—he wasn't at all fond of rats, and hoped they'd stay out of sight within the walls.

When they reached the point where Rimmer thought the doorway ought to be, he began to despair. Where the hell was it? Could they have passed it accidentally? He tried to slow down to examine the walls, in case there was a hidden exit, but Lister grabbed his sleeve and pulled him onward, up the stairs. "Wait!" Rimmer yelled, yanking his jacket out of Lister's grasp. "I think we passed the way out!"

Lister turned and rejoined Rimmer, but they didn't get the opportunity to conduct a thorough search for the exit. As soon as they halted, the scrabbling noise grew louder. The walls above them seemed to undulate, as if they were made of fabric rather than solid rock. Then the violet light reflected off huge blank eyes, and it became obvious that it wasn't the walls that were moving—it was hundreds of writhing bodies emerging soundlessly from the walls.

Appalled, Lister and Rimmer glanced at each other and without further ado frantically turned and raced down the stairs. Looking back, Rimmer saw with a sinking heart that the beings were gaining on them. He could see sharp, yellowed teeth and large eyes set into heads that looked like a cross between the skulls of humans and rats. The grotesquely pale, hairless things hopped and slithered their way down the stairs, using their claw-like front appendages as legs when necessary. Given their rate of descent, they'd catch up to the fleeing humans in seconds.

The act of looking back threw Rimmer off balance momentarily. His foot skidded on the time-polished stones of the staircase and he felt himself falling to one side. There was nothing to hold onto, and Rimmer toppled off the stairs and into the abyss. He screamed and shut his eyes tightly, hoping that his hologramatic body could withstand such an epic fall. But even as he screamed he felt his wrist being grabbed tightly. _Lister! Thank god!_

Then he was being hauled up by his wrist and manhandled onto the staircase. Rimmer lay flat on his back on the cold stones, eyes closed, panting heavily and trying to stop the trembling that shook his body. At last his breathing slowed and he opened his eyes. Lister was hunched on his haunches nearby, watching him closely with feral eyes that glowed a faint green.

"You are too important to us to let you waste your death like that," Lister/Nyarlothotep observed emotionlessly in a raspy, guttural voice that made Rimmer shiver just to hear it. "And I am not about to let the ghouls feast upon you. Now get up: The time draws near."

* * *

The descent of the staircase seemed to Rimmer to take an eternity. Nyarlothotep had grabbed him by the elbow and practically dragged him downward. As they descended, Rimmer became aware of a muffled noise—a faint throbbing as if from the beating of an immense heart. The floor seemed to vibrate in synchronization with the slow, inexorable beat, and the air was getting thicker. A faint odor also became noticeable. It seemed familiar, and within a few moments Rimmer realized where he'd smelled it before: on the derelict where they'd found that cursed sphere. The combination of the odor and the sound grated on his nerves and made him want to vomit or scream. He longed to run away, back up the stairs, but the thing in Lister's body had an incredibly powerful grasp on his arm. He doubted he could break free, even given the extra strength his hard-light body provided.

He glanced over at his captor. There was no trace of Lister in the body that was marching beside him. The features were set in a mask of malice, and the eyes glittered with a sickly green light deep within. How could he ever release Lister from this thing? And just what did it want with them? Rimmer didn't like the idea of being important to "them," whoever they were. And just how many of these things were there? If there were a lot, he'd better do something sooner rather than later, when the odds would be worse. But what the smeg could he possibly do? The only consolation he had was the thought that perhaps these beings didn't know about holograms and how to kill them. That might give him an edge—or at least more time to think. He definitely didn't want them hurting him even a little bit, but it was reassuring to know that unless they targeted his light bee, they couldn't harm him permanently.

Beside him, Nyarlothotep laughed internally. _Fool,_ it thought. _You cannot escape us that easily._ It was amused by the naiveté of the human—for Rimmer was human in this strange realm between dimensions. Had he bothered to check, he would have felt the absence of the usual 'H' on his forehead.

Rimmer stopped abruptly. He could have sworn he heard something—a voice, taunting him and laughing at him. But no one had spoken. "Er, did you say something, Mr. Nylon?" he asked tentatively. Nyarlothotep just looked at him and smiled.

* * *

At last they reached the bottom of the staircase. Multiple, identical paths branched off in all directions. Without hesitation, Nyarlothotep steered Rimmer down one and hastened their pace. At first, the surrounding darkness was empty, as far as Rimmer could tell. As they traveled a little farther, however, vague shapes became visible. Tumbled down walls and heaps of partially collapsed buildings huddled near the path, the wreckage sometimes forcing the travelers to make short detours or to clamber over massive stones in order to continue on their way.

During one of these detours, Rimmer made his move. He hadn't planned his actions in advance—just acted on the spur of the moment as he was being forced by Nyarlothotep to climb over an approximately ten-foot wall. As Nyarlothotep boosted him over the top of the wall, Rimmer kicked out with both feet, hitting his captor squarely in the jaw. Nyarlothotep lost his grip and tumbled back down to the ground, with Rimmer right behind him. Rimmer had a vague idea of knocking Lister/Nyarlothotep unconscious so he could try to carry him back to _Starbug_ and then enlist Kryten's help in figuring out how to separate the two coexistent minds. But even as he stooped to check whether his companion was unconscious, the plan fell apart.

The entity's eyes shot open, staring directly at Rimmer, and the green glow took on an almost painful intensity. Immediately, Rimmer was seized with agony. His body felt like it was trying to disintegrate itself cell by cell, atom by atom, and his mind was swamped with fear and despair. He tried to scream, but his vocal chords wouldn't cooperate. _Stop it!_ he screamed in his mind. _God, please, stop it!_

Nyarlothotep glared at him, its eyes filled with hatred and scorn. "I will release you only if you swear never to do anything stupid like that again," it hissed, its voice harsh and louder than usual. "I will not tolerate disobedience from such an insignificant creature as you. You should be grateful that you have been chosen to serve the Elder Gods, but instead you fight us. That will not happen again or I will destroy you in such a manner that this punishment will seem to have been a gentle caress in comparison."

Rimmer quaked at the thought of anything actually being worse than what he was currently enduring. He tried to open his mouth to agree with the creature's demands, but his body was still not listening to him. _I swear! I swear!_ he babbled mentally, tears of pain and humiliation starting to run down his cheeks. How could he ever have hoped to save Lister when he couldn't even handle a little pain? He was a hopeless coward and an utter failure, he berated himself, and he deserved whatever fate this thing had planned for him. He only hoped it wouldn't involve any more pain.


	3. Chapter 3

Rimmer stumbled along beside his captor, legs and lungs aching from the continual quick pace Nyarlathotep set. They had entered a subterranean city of monstrous proportions a while ago, which had worried Rimmer at first. A city would seem to indicate the presence of inhabitants, and he didn't want to meet any more things with powers like Nyarlathotep's. But the city was apparently dead: Its twisting, dark streets were devoid of life. Massive windowless buildings of black stone towered over Rimmer and his guide, thrusting so high into the lightless sky that their upper portions were lost from view. There were no signs or visible decorative flourishes anywhere in the city—just blank stone that shone faintly with a fitful violet luminescence.

The sheer bulk and size of the buildings made Rimmer uneasy, but what disturbed him on a more fundamental level was the utter 'wrong-ness' of the city. The geometry was sickeningly non-Euclidean: Surfaces were concave and convex at the same time, and the buildings had angles that shifted even as one tried to focus on their shape. Up was down, and streets seemed to twist under his feet as if he were walking on a Möbius strip rather than solid stones. There was nothing on a human scale here, wherever _here_ was. Rimmer felt as if he were trapped in a nightmarish Escher print that had impossibly come into solid existence.

At first his mind tried to comprehend his surroundings, but then it began to shut down in protest, unable to handle the conflicting sensory input it was receiving. Although he kept on walking, dragged on by his tireless guide, Rimmer was only vaguely conscious of the passage of time and of the distance they traveled.

* * *

At some point, Rimmer became aware of a rhythmic, repeated series of sounds that intertwined in a complex counterpoint with the constant throbbing that thrummed throughout the city. He was pretty sure the new sounds were coming from outside of him, yet they echoed within his mind as well, creating an uncanny and distasteful stereo effect. Something about them seemed vaguely familiar and important, so he made an effort to concentrate and to clear away the fog in his mind. By focusing on the sounds, he was finally able to bring himself out of the zombie-like state into which he had fallen.

Nyarlothotep was chanting something over and over in a muted undertone. After listening for a while, Rimmer recognized the words as something Lister had often said during his disturbed dreaming. As best as he could make it out, the chant was something like

_Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn._

He recognized the name _Cthulhu_ from Kryten's discourse on Lovecraft's fiction and wondered what the connection with this godforsaken place was. Hoping to gather information that might be helpful in figuring out how to extricate himself and Lister from this nightmare, he stopped walking and mentally steeled himself to deal with Nyarlothotep.

Rimmer's lack of motion caused Nyarlothotep to bring its attention back to its captive. It snarled at him in its incomprehensible language, but its meaning was clear: Get moving, _now_.

Rimmer stayed put. "I need to have some answers, Nylon," he asserted, his chin jutting into the air in an attempt to appear brave, a façade that was undermined by the tremor evident in his voice. "Who are you? Who is Cthulhu? And what do you want with Lister and me? I'm not moving another step until I know what's going on. Besides which, I need to catch my breath."

Nyarlothotep eyed Rimmer speculatively, as if deciding whether to respond or to punish him for his audacity. Rimmer gulped and tried not to tremble too visibly. At last Nyarlothotep seemed to decide that Rimmer wasn't worth wasting energy on. It tightened its hold on his arm and jerked him forward. Rimmer tried to resist, even though his arm felt like it was being pulled out of its socket, but he was powerless against the strength of the entity that had taken over Lister.

However, Nyarlothotep _did_ begin talking to him, as if it wished to impress Rimmer with its importance and to share its grandiose plans. "I am Nyarlothotep, soul and messenger of the Elder Gods. It is my task to reach out to sensitive minds and persuade their owners to help us so that one day we may all be released from our tombs and return to our rightful place in the cosmos. The being you called Lister was such a mind."

"What you call 'persuasion' is more like brainwashing or hijacking!" Rimmer said angrily. "You didn't ask Lister to help you—you just possessed him!"

Nyarlothotep shrugged. "He was of no importance except as a tool to bring you here and perform the necessary rituals. What he did or did not want is irrelevant. We wish to return to our true forms and resume our rightful role as gods on Earth, which requires the opening of portals that have been barred against us for eons. The portals can be opened from either end, but only when the stars are right and only when certain..._conditions_...have been met.

"Undead Cthulhu, who lies dreaming in the submerged city of R'leyh on Earth, was supposed to open the portal on his end. However, that has not happened, even though the stars are currently right. I have been unable to contact him for quite some time. I fear something has changed on Earth...."

"How can you possibly contact somebody on Earth from here, or travel there? Earth must be millions—maybe billions—of light-years away!" Rimmer protested.

"We are not limited to your puny senses and capabilities," Nyarlothotep replied. "Our normal mode of speech is transmitted thought, and we can converse over fathomless distances."

"Transmitted thought...," Rimmer muttered to himself, thinking rapidly. Light dawned. "You mean telepathy! So _that's_ how you got at Lister! That black sphere—that was your doing, wasn't it?"

Nyarlothotep nodded. "The sphere is of use in reaching the minds of lesser species. We do not need such tools to converse amongst ourselves."

"And the traveling to Earth bit? How does that work?" Rimmer was hoping that something worthwhile might actually come from this mess. If there was a portal to Earth somewhere down here, then Lister might be able to escape through it and fulfill at least one of his dreams—assuming Lister managed to survive his possession.

"That is more complicated," replied Nyarlothotep. "The portal allows instantaneous travel among the interstellar voids, but it must be opened first. That is where you come in."

Rimmer was startled. "Me? _I_ don't know how to open it! And as I'm sure anyone on _Red Dwarf_ would have told you, I'm the last person you should ask to fix something. I'm more likely to end up killing everyone than doing the job right," he concluded bitterly.

"You are perfect for the job," Nyarlothotep stated with absolute finality. "Now be silent: I need to contact some of our servants."

* * *

Kryten and Cat were at a loss as to what to do next. They had been searching for Lister and Rimmer for almost 20 hours now, with no success. Scans continued to show no life signs on the entire planet, and Cat's sensitive nose had picked up no trace of their missing crewmates. The only smell he sensed was a pervading fetid odor in the atmosphere, which was disgustingly strong to him but which Kryten could not detect.

Still, they were not about to give up. When night fell on the planet, they retired to _Starbug_ to rest and to try to figure out what, if anything, they had missed in their search so far.

* * *

Nyarlothotep halted Rimmer under a huge stone archway that vaguely resembled the entrance to a cathedral, only on a scale that was magnitudes larger than any cathedral on Earth. The all-pervading stench was stronger here, and Rimmer could hear strange gibbering and scrabbling noises coming from beyond the archway. "Stay close by my side," Nyarlothotep warned Rimmer in its raspy whisper. "Our servants, like ourselves, have been imprisoned for eons. They may be a bit difficult to control."

Rimmer shuddered, hoping these "servants" weren't the rat-like things that had tried to attack him and Lister on the staircase so long ago. He kept close to Nyarlothotep as they entered a vast round room that, like most of the rooms he had seen so far, was completely empty as far as he could tell. The dimensions of the room were impossible to determine—the edges and the ceiling (if indeed it had one) were swallowed up in shadows.

As they struck out toward the center of the room, Rimmer became aware that the floor was almost entirely covered with a foul-smelling, greenish-yellow ichor. Bile rose in his throat as he tried not to breathe too deeply or to think about the disgusting mess he was walking through. Then his mind was diverted in an altogether unpleasant way as an ear-shattering, inhuman screech resounded through the chamber. Rimmer practically jumped out of his skin—the awful sound had seemed to come from directly beneath his feet.

Looking down, Rimmer could see that he and Nyarlothotep were standing on a huge, round metal door set into the stone floor. Another wail rose from beneath their feet, which seemed to start a chain reaction within the chamber. Within seconds, the room was filled with hideous, deafening noise. Rimmer clamped his hands over his ears. "Can't you make them shut up?" he yelled, his fear manifesting itself as anger.

Nyarlothotep ignored him. "Stand over there," it ordered, pointing to one side of the trapdoor. Rimmer obeyed, although his trembling knees were making it difficult to move or even to stand upright. Nyarlothotep then reached down to tug at the trap door's handle, simultaneously saying something loudly in the harsh language Rimmer had grown to hate hearing.

The door sprung open and a blast of musty, fetid air arose from the pit that was revealed. Within seconds, the occupant of the pit emerged as well. Rimmer froze in fear as a huge dark thing catapulted upward and then hovered in the air above them. The being's titanic leathery wings beat slowly in the heavy air as the thing looked down at them. It had a vaguely humanoid body, with arms and legs that ended in viciously sharp, hooked claws. But its face was anything but human. It could have served as a model for a gargoyle—if the sculptor could bring himself to render such an insanity-inducing monstrosity into stone.

Then it spoke, its voice low-pitched and booming. "You have brought food. Let me eat and then I will serve you," it said, addressing Nyarlothotep.

"No. He is needed for another purpose," Nyarlothotep stated firmly.

Rimmer desperately wanted to faint, if only so he was no longer aware of these two nightmarish creatures arguing over his fate, but something kept him awake and on his feet. He suspected that 'something' was Nyarlothotep controlling him mentally.

"I beg thee," the winged creature said. "Let me rend him limb from limb and eat his flesh. You will still have what you need."

"You know very well that is not possible," Nyarlothotep scolded angrily. "I will feed you later. At the moment, I need you to begin waking up the others of your kind and releasing them to prepare for the sacrifice."

The winged being glared at Nyarlothotep, clearly indignant about being ordered around so peremptorily. With a roar, the rebellious creature suddenly launched itself at Rimmer.

Rimmer screamed as he felt enormous claws sinking deeply into his back and shoulders. Before he could even think about reacting, he was dangling high above the floor, twisting helplessly in the creature's grasp as it began to ponderously fly away from Nyarlothotep. Rimmer's arms and back felt as if they were on fire, and his stomach rebelled at the sensation of swinging through the air at a dizzying height above the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and desperately screamed with all his might. His screams mingled with and were lost in the chorus of nightmarish voices echoing throughout the chamber as the noise reached a height of frenzy.

And then suddenly there was a flash of green light and the sound of one voice uttering dreadful words of command, and Rimmer felt himself falling through the air in absolute silence. He hit the floor hard and mercifully blacked out.

* * *

When he came to, Nyarlothotep was sitting by his side and wrapping crude bandages around the puncture wounds on his back and shoulders. Rimmer recoiled from the contact, causing a fresh wave of pain to wash over him.

"Shhh," a familiar voice said. "Don't move yet. I'm not done fixin' you up."

"Lister?" he asked groggily. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's me," Lister replied, pausing in his ministrations to touch Rimmer's cheek tenderly. It was tearing Lister apart to see what was being done to Rimmer and to be helpless to stop it.

"How...?" Rimmer began asking weakly before a paroxysm of coughing interrupted him. Blood dripped from a corner of his mouth, unnoticed by him but causing Lister alarm.

"I think trying to control the Winged Ones used up too much of Nyarlothotep's energy," Lister replied. "He couldn't control both me and those things at the same time. But he'll be back soon—and it may be for good. I don't think I can last much longer."

_Me neither,_ thought Rimmer bleakly. "I'm sorry, Lister. I promised to help you..."

"Don't apologize, Rimmer—it's not your fault," said Lister fiercely. "Now listen: You gotta get out of here, _now_. Just start runnin' as fast as you can and don't look back."

Rimmer shook his head. "Won't leave...without you," he panted as he pulled himself gingerly to his feet with Lister's assistance. "They can't kill me, and I won't let them kill you—either mentally or physically."

Lister thought his heart might break. He knew from his connection with Nyarlothotep what the being planned to do with Rimmer, and he couldn't let it happen—especially not with his own hands performing the deed. It was obvious that Rimmer was unaware he was no longer a hologram. Would telling him be enough to make him try to escape without worrying about leaving Lister behind? Somehow he doubted that knowing he was vulnerable would make a difference to Rimmer—he seemed braver these days, more willing to put himself at risk.

Lister sensed Nyarlothotep stirring in his mind. This might be his last opportunity to say anything to Rimmer—he'd better not waste it. "Rimmer," he began, intending to tell his friend the feelings he had hidden for so long. "I—"

And then his eyes flared green and Lister fell back into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Rimmer's heart sank when he saw the green glint return to Lister's eyes. Nyarlothotep was back, and it looked angry. "Do not even _think_ of escaping," it hissed. "If you try, I will break your spine and _carry_ you to our destination—it does not matter to me what shape you are in when we arrive, as long as your heart is still beating. Do I make myself clear?"

Rimmer nodded dully. The hopelessness of the situation was making it difficult to even care what happened next. Lister was gone, consumed by the mind of this awful creature. He had failed again, and this time Lister had died.

Nyarlothotep began dragging him onward. Rimmer's whole body ached from his fall, and it hurt to breathe. He wanted to curl up on the ground and never move again, but his captor would not let him slacken their pace in the slightest. They reached the foot of another great staircase and began to ascend it. The throbbing sound was louder here, and becoming faster. The stones underneath their feet vibrated with the beat. "We are very near the place of sacrifice," Nyarlothotep announced. "Soon you will have the honor of welcoming Azathoth back from his deathless exile."

"Azathoth? Who the smeg is he when he's at home?" Rimmer asked, no longer caring if he angered Nyarlothotep.

"He is the omnipotent ruler of all, who sits enthroned at the center of Chaos. He shall break free of his prison and command the gates between the stars so that we may wield dominion over all space and time." Nyarlothotep's eyes glinted evilly as it envisioned the future. It was so close—all that needed to be done was to get this miserable human being up the stairs to the altar.

"If he's so omnipotent, what's he doing in prison?" wondered Rimmer out loud. He was beginning to feel dizzy, almost giddy. Nothing seemed real any more—not the massive stone staircase they were climbing, not the pain that lanced through his abdomen, and definitely not the idea of a ruler of Chaos.

The question infuriated Nyarlothotep, who backhanded Rimmer across the face, sending him tumbling down the steps like a rag doll. When his descent ended, Rimmer tried to push himself up but was forced to stop as he began coughing harshly and gasping for breath. His vision began to go gray. Nyarlothotep viewed him with disdain, then walked down to Rimmer and picked him up as if he were a particularly loathsome piece of garbage.

When he became aware of his surroundings once again, Rimmer found himself lying on his back on a cold slab of stone. What had been left of his tattered t-shirt had been removed, as had the bandages Lister had tried to fashion out of Rimmer's jacket. The soul-chilling coldness made Rimmer shiver and try to sit up, but he discovered that his wrists and ankles were bound to the slab by metallic restraints. The movement caused pain to flare in his abused body, and he moaned.

The noise and movement alerted Nyarlothotep that its victim was conscious, and it quickly stepped over to the altar. It was carrying two bowls made from the ubiquitous black stone, each chased with golden hieroglyphs that gleamed faintly in the darkness.

"The Lifegiver is awake," Nyarlothotep declaimed ceremoniously as it placed the bowls on a small table near the altar. The announcement was greeted by a swelling, surf-like sound as if thousands of voices had made an antiphonal response.

Rimmer turned his head from side to side, searching for the source of the voices, but he saw no one except Nyarlothotep. Behind Nyarlothotep he glimpsed another massive stone archway. It had no visible door, but the entrance seemed barricaded nonetheless by solid darkness. A nameless fear grew within Rimmer's mind as he gazed at the doorway. The blackness there shone with an impossible intensity, as if darkness had become a positive presence rather than the absence of light. A cold wind seemed to flow from the doorway, and he thought he heard a chitinous rattle and the slow beat of massive wings beyond the blocked archway. He swallowed fearfully and turned his eyes to Nyarlothotep again.

"Look," Rimmer said in a quavering, small voice. "I don't know what you want with me, but I'm betting it's not good. You might as well know right away that if you're thinking of killing me, you're going to be disappointed. I'm a hologram—I can't be killed. So all this sacrifice mumbo-jumbo is useless. _I'm_ useless. So's Lister, for that matter. So why don't you just let me and Lister go and we'll forget all about this, hmmm?"

Nyarlothotep gazed down at him with a rictus of a smile on its face. "But you are _not_ a hologram, and you will serve our purposes quite well. Your life streams will give new life to Azathoth—and through him, to us—and your head and heart will unlock the portals to infinity."

Rimmer's mouth dropped open as he tried to assimilate this information. He was human again? At any other time, this news would have thrilled him. Now, however, it spelled disaster. His mind raced, trying to think of ways to talk Nyarlothotep out of its intentions. "How about a deal, then?" he asked wildly. "I'll do what you want, but only if you let Lister go free—_all_ of Lister: mind and body. You won't need his body anymore if your real one is freed from its tomb by...by this ritual."

"That is true," Nyarlothotep agreed. "But his body will not go to waste. Like the remains of yours, it will be given to our servants as a reward for their loyalty. They have not eaten for ages—it will be quite a treat for them."

The unseen voices seemed to welcome this statement—the noise grew to a cacophonous roar. Rimmer closed his eyes in defeat. He could think of nothing more to say or do that might stop Nyarlothotep.

Nyarlothotep raised its arms to stop the noise, and then chanted something in its foul language. The voices replied. The ritual had begun.

* * *

The chanting rose and fell in hypnotic rhythms that seemed to Rimmer to be having an odd effect on his mind. He felt that he was losing his grip on his own self as his mind opened up to chaos. Dark knowledge flooded into his consciousness, and he felt the addictive qualities of infinite power and of the wild joy of killing. Many foul, icy minds seemed to be pushing on his, urging him to give in to their control. But there was one warm flicker of consciousness that was urging him to hold on, to not give up. _Lister! He's still alive somewhere in there!_ He fought against the urge to surrender, holding on to the thought that Lister was not yet totally lost.

The beating sound grew louder and faster. Suddenly Rimmer felt a cold hand grab his cock. He had been so caught up in his internal struggles that he hadn't even been aware that his trousers had been pulled down. The unexpected molestation brought him sharply back to full awareness of physical reality, however.

Nyarlothotep squeezed Rimmer's cock painfully hard and began to pump it violently, all the while continuing to chant. Rimmer cried out and writhed helplessly, trying to dislodge Nyarlothotep's grip. He couldn't believe this was happening. For many years he had dreamed of making love with Lister, of having Lister's hands clasped around his cock. But not like this. Although Lister's hands were the ones touching him in such a personal way, Lister himself wasn't there, and there was definitely no love involved. Rimmer felt sick as his treacherous body began to respond to Nyarlothotep's actions.

The antiphonal chants were getting faster now as well, and the ceaseless throbbing beat had quickened and intensified. The air seemed to grow heaver and harder to breathe. Rimmer noticed almost without surprise that he could now understand what Nyarlothotep and the others were saying—presumably because his mind had been opened to them. They were calling for the fountain of life to be bountiful so that it would revivify Azathoth at his fullest powers.

Rimmer desperately tried to think of things that would make him lose his erection. He already didn't want to come as a result of Nyarlothotep's forcible assault, but the fact that his semen seemed to be necessary for freeing Azathoth made not coming even more imperative. However, his body overrode his brain's frantic attempts to shut down its primitive responses. Rimmer screamed in frustration, self-hatred, and pain as Nyarlothotep roughly pushed him to the edge and beyond. His body arched, held down only by its restraints, and his cock spasmed. Jets of ejaculate poured forth and were caught in one of the black bowls by Nyarlothotep. Simultaneously, the chanting reached a climax and ended in a roar of triumph.

Nyarlothotep raised the bowl up high, exhibiting it to the gathered denizens of the hellish realm. Rimmer fell back bonelessly on the slab, panting irregularly and trying not to cry. He hated himself for losing control and participating in the sordid act that would let loose a monster upon the universe, and he mourned the loss of his dream of a perfect first time with Lister.

A loud rumble that shook the slab on which he was lying caused Rimmer to search for its source. By rolling his head as far to one side as possible, he could see Nyarlothotep standing before the dark doorway that seemed to be holding back infinite horrors. Nyarlothotep was using a brush-like object to sprinkle the contents of the bowl into the yawning darkness in a peculiar pattern. As more and more droplets hit the 'door,' the rumbling grew louder. The solid darkness seemed to become slightly transparent, as if it were changing into a more gel-like, liquid consistency. A foul odor was borne on the bone-chillingly cold breeze that streamed forth from the archway. Rimmer felt rather than heard an idiotic gibbering that also escaped from that hell hole. The mindless malevolence of that buzzing voice was terrifying, and Rimmer whimpered in fear.

Nyarlothotep returned to Rimmer's side, now bearing the second black bowl and a large knife whose razor-sharp blade shone with a greenish-purple light. The chanting began again. Rimmer stared up at Nyarlothotep, his eyes wide with terror. "Please," he somehow managed to say in a faint voice. "Please don't kill me."

Nyarlothotep ignored him, intent on its duties. It carefully placed the blade on Rimmer's left arm, near the wrist. Speaking ritualistic words, the entity sliced open Rimmer's vein from wrist to elbow and placed the bowl so that it could catch the flow of life-giving blood. Rimmer screamed as he felt the icy blade sinking deeply into his arm, leaving a fiery trail of pain in its wake. He struggled against his restraints, to no avail. Rimmer could feel himself growing weaker as the blood poured out of him. He hoped that he would die soon, before whatever was behind that benighted archway emerged.

The bowl must have been full, for Nyarlothotep removed it and again stood before the archway. As before, Nyarlothotep sprinkled the fluid onto the tenebrous opening. The thrumming sound was now deafeningly loud, and the air and floor were vibrating rapidly. Rimmer felt his own heart begin to beat ever more rapidly, synchronizing with the pulsing rhythm that pounded in his ears and threatened to crush his mind. The air was pressing down on him like a solid weight. He had to consciously force himself to breathe, fighting his body's urge to shut down.

As he gasped and coughed, Rimmer saw Nyarlothotep looking down at him again. The knife was in its upraised hand—Lister's hand—and he could see his death in the cold, hate-filled eyes that had once belonged to the man he had loved in silence for so long. "Lister," he choked out, trying to reach his friend. "Fight it. Don't let it make you kill me."

The knife plunged downward, toward Rimmer's heart. Screaming, he twisted his body to the right as hard as he could, setting off fresh bursts of pain in his abdomen and shoulders. The knife narrowly missed Rimmer's heart, piercing his left side and grating along his rib cage. He could feel the rasp of the blade as it slid over bone, each millimeter of its journey accompanied by overwhelming agony.

Nyarlothotep jerked the blade out angrily and placed a hand on Rimmer's chest, holding him down to prevent any further movement. It raised the blade again.

"Lister! Help me!" Rimmer pleaded as he watched Nyarlothotep ready itself to strike. There was no glint of recognition in those dead eyes. Hoping against hope that Lister could at least hear him, even if he couldn't help him, Rimmer made one last effort to make contact with him. "I love you, Lister!" he yelled, then closed his eyes to block out the sight of the rapidly descending knife.


	5. Chapter 5

Trapped within his own body, Lister fought for awareness of what was transpiring in the real world. Ever since he had unknowingly answered the mental call sent through the sphere, he had been unsure of what was real and of what he was saying and doing—and why. The disorientation had slowly grown worse with time, and there were periods when he lost all awareness of his own consciousness.

Throughout the nightmarish journey through the doleful city, Lister had felt as if he were trapped in a padded room deep within Nyarlothotep's mind, a drugged and strait-jacketed lunatic screaming to be released. Although he was vaguely aware of the external aspects of the journey, seeing the physical world as through a glass, darkly, his mind had difficulties comprehending what it saw due to its befuddled state. Only rarely was he able to attain full lucidity and emerge from the cell, when Nyarlothotep's control was withdrawn or weakened.

One particular thought echoed within Lister's mind even when he was unable to figure out what it meant, or who 'Rimmer' was: _I can't let meself kill Rimmer like I did in the dream._ It had become a mantra of sorts, giving him a sense of purpose that grounded him and made him fight to stay alive and aware.

He remembered trying to say something terribly important not too long ago, but he wasn't sure he had been successful. The real world had seemed even fuzzier and further away after that. He thought he had sensed a familiar, longed-for presence within his shared mind for a fleeting moment. He had reached out to that warm presence, feeling its pain and fear, and tried to soothe and strengthen it. But all too soon the presence had slipped away, leaving him alone again with the suffocating darkness.

Through veiled eyes and mind, he watched strange scenes take place—a ritualistic ceremony of some kind, in which he was a puppet-like participant. Part of him knew that the ritual sacrifice would awaken Azathoth, and reveled in that knowledge. But the part that was Lister felt that he should recognize the pale figure who lay on the massive stone altar, and should care about what was happening to him. He struggled to shake off his mental lethargy and fully understand what he was seeing and doing.

And then words shouted in a desperate, pain-filled voice rang through his mind, penetrating and dissolving the mental haze: "I love you, Lister!"

_Rimmer!_ Lister took in the situation in a flash, even as he felt his knife arm descending with terrible momentum and deadly purpose. Exerting all of his will and mental strength, Lister fought to divert the knife from Rimmer's heart. His attack caught Nyarlothotep by surprise, giving him a small edge over the dark entity.

The knife wavered slightly in its course and then plunged into Rimmer's upper left arm, ripping another scream from Rimmer's tortured throat. The force of the thrust was so great that the blade went all the way through the arm and shattered upon contact with the altar.

Nyarlothotep, torn between attempting to regain control over Lister and extracting the remains of the knife so it could complete the sacrifice as quickly as possible, was thrown off balance mentally. It had not expected any opposition to its plans and was finding it difficult to adapt to the rapidly changing circumstances. Lister took advantage of Nyarlothotep's momentary distraction and wrested control of his body back, helped by his burning determination not to let Rimmer die. He quickly undid Rimmer's restraints, pulled the broken knife blade out of his arm, and hoisted his semi-conscious body off the altar, pulling Rimmer's arm over his shoulder and grabbing him around the waist so that he could half-carry, half-drag his severely injured friend.

Lister headed for a small tunnel he had spotted near the ominously throbbing, semi-transparent tomb of Azathoth. They had almost reached it when a Winged One blocked their path, hovering in front of them as it prepared to attack with its vicious claws. Lister struck out at it wildly with the jagged knife blade, burying it up to the hilt in a corded leg. The creature shrieked and flapped up out of reach, giving Lister just enough room to duck beneath it and pull himself and Rimmer into the narrow tunnel. As he reached its relative safety, he sensed rather than saw the titanic, grotesque figure of Azathoth attempting to breach the final barriers of his prison. A maddened, maddening roar resounded throughout the subterranean city and almost froze Lister's blood in his veins. Shaking off the overwhelming temptation to succumb to madness and hopelessness, he tightened his grip on Rimmer and continued stumbling down the twisting passageway.

* * *

Lister and Rimmer moved as quickly as they could through endless narrow passageways and corridors deep within the dark city. Luckily, the tunnel through which they had escaped had been too small for the Winged Ones to enter, but they could hear distant scrabbling sounds that indicated that the rat-like ghouls were pursuing them. The memory of the ghoul's slavering jaws drove them onward.

Lister could feel Nyarlothotep attempting to reassert mental control, but he fought it with all his might, fear giving him added strength. Rimmer, meanwhile, was only dimly aware of what was happening, emotional trauma and loss of blood combining to cloud his mind. He knew he had to stay on his feet and not let Lister down, but it was becoming more and more difficult to keep moving. He tried not to give in to the urge to cough, knowing that it would slow them down and perhaps alert their pursuers as to their whereabouts, but at last he could fight it no longer. A hacking cough racked his body, and he instinctively leaned forward to try to ease the pain. Lister tried to halt and support him through the paroxysm, but Rimmer overbalanced and fell awkwardly to the ground, dragging Lister down with him.

"Lister," he said, forcing his eyes to open and focus rather fuzzily on his companion. "I can't go on. Leave..."

"No," interrupted Lister. "We're _both_ gettin' outta here, so don't try to weasel your way outta this fun-filled hike." He propped Rimmer up against the wall of the passageway, anxiously evaluating his condition. Rimmer was in terrible shape—bright red blood dripped from his mouth, and rivulets of the precious fluid flowed down his back, left side, and left arm.

Rimmer's mouth twitched in a tired smile. "If you insist." Then the amusement abruptly left him as he became aware of a greenish glint that flickered in Lister's eyes for a few seconds. "Lister? Are you still there?" he asked fearfully.

"Yeah, mate. It's still me," Lister answered. _But I don't know for how long._

"Isn't there any way we can fight them?" asked Rimmer wearily. "Some kind of spell or ritual or something? If a ritual can free them..." His words trailed off as a wave of faintness swept over him, making him lose his train of thought. He could hardly keep his eyes open now—all he wanted to do was close them and go to sleep, forever.

_That's it!_ "Rimmer, you're a genius!" exclaimed Lister. He searched his mind for memories of Nyarlothotep's esoteric knowledge, which he had unwillingly shared when the entity was possessing him. And there they were—words of command that Nyarlothotep feared. He'd have to act quickly, before Nyarlothotep could stop him, but it was their best chance for escaping.

"OK, I think I know the spell that will send Nyarlothotep—and all the rest of his gang—back to their tombs. But I'll need some of your blood to activate the spell."

Rimmer held out his left arm. "Help yourself. It's on tap." He giggled, finding the situation funny somehow. His eyes fluttered several times as he fought against the dizziness and exhaustion that were pulling at him.

Lister took the arm and held it gently, cupping his hand beneath the cut-open vein and squeezing slightly to obtain some fresh blood. As soon as he had what he needed, he began the incantation:
    
    
    Ogthrod ai'f  
        Geb'l—ee'h  
        Yog-Sothoth  
        'Ngah'ng ai'y  
        Zhro!

As he spoke, he tossed the droplets of Rimmer's blood into the air and watched in disbelief as they floated upward, against the force of gravity, and vanished.

As he uttered the last word, a horrible wailing noise filled the air, almost shattering his ear drums and startling Rimmer back to full consciousness. Almost simultaneously, the ground began to shake violently. Lister reached down and pulled Rimmer to his feet. "Leg it!" he yelled.

The city seemed to be tearing itself apart. Massive chunks of masonry tumbled from the black buildings as the seismic convulsions continued unabated. Lister and Rimmer spotted a staircase that seemed a likely escape route and frantically began to ascend it, fear lending them a burst of energy. Huge stones rained down around them, and the stairs jumped and shuddered in a sickening motion.

After an indeterminate period of time, which seemed to Rimmer and Lister to be years, they spied a doorway at the top of the stairs. "There's the gates!" Lister yelled in triumph. "We're almost there!" Just then a huge rock tumbled from the cavern's ceiling onto the stairs, trapping Lister's right leg beneath it. "Smeg!" he screamed, pushing at the rock in a futile effort to free himself.

Rimmer joined him, and together they managed to move the rock enough for Lister to drag his leg out from beneath it. Rimmer took one look at the mangled limb and scooped Lister into his arms without hesitation—he knew Lister would never be able to climb the stairs with that injury. He focused all his being on reaching the door that was so tantalizingly close, yet so impossibly far, ignoring the pain that wracked his body. He _had_ to get Lister through that door.

Rimmer stumbled up the last few stairs in a fog and staggered through the doorway into a chamber that appeared to be the same one from which their hellish journey had begun. Just as he set foot in the chamber, a final massive aftershock hit. The chamber's ceiling collapsed, pounding down on Rimmer's bowed back. The intense pain of the impact and the force of the falling rocks loosened his grip on Lister, who fell from his arms. Lister's scream was the last thing he heard before he blacked out, his energy utterly depleted.

* * *

Lister groaned as he regained consciousness. His head felt like he had the hangover from hell, his right leg throbbed and burned, and his body felt like it had been pounded by a meat tenderizer. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized that he was lying against something soft and warm. He opened his eyes carefully, squinting against the brightness of the shafts of light that penetrated the chamber through cracks in the rubble. He was lying in Rimmer's lap, with his head resting on Rimmer's shoulder, and his body loosely encircled by Rimmer's arms.

Remembering how badly injured Rimmer was, Lister quickly checked to see if he could feel a heartbeat. Yes, there it was—nice and steady. He looked up at Rimmer's face and noticed the 'H' on his forehead with a profound sigh of relief. That meant not only that they were back in their own world, but also that Rimmer was no longer in danger of dying. It had been a close call, however—way too close for comfort.

Rimmer was an absolute mess: His face was filthy and streaked with dried tears, his torso was riddled with still-bleeding gashes and fresh bruises, and what little clothing he had left on was bloodstained and tattered. Yet Lister thought he had never seen anything so beautiful as the sleeping hologram. He settled back against Rimmer's chest, not wanting to disturb his rest and feeling content and safe in his arms. But the slight movement woke Rimmer, whose worry about Lister had prevented him from falling into too deep a sleep.

"Listy!" he said softly, tightening his embrace. Lister returned the hug, holding onto Rimmer tightly as he felt Rimmer's breath hitch and his shoulders shake with silent sobs.

"It's OK, Rimmer. We made it." Tears began to roll down Lister's cheeks as well in reaction to the trauma they had both endured. "We're together, and I love you. We'll be OK now." His repeated reassurances seemed to be meant as much to convince himself of the reality of their survival as to comfort Rimmer. "As a team, we're unbeatable, eh?"

Rimmer nodded. "And the gates of hell shall not prevail against us," he whispered, resting his cheek on the top of Lister's head.

A rumble of falling rocks startled them, and both men flinched instinctively. But the sound was coming from the pile blocking the tunnel entrance, not from above. Voices called out to them: "Hey, buds, you in there?" "Mr Lister! Mr Rimmer! Are you all right?"

"We're here!" they yelled back enthusiastically. "We're OK," added Lister. "Just shagged out and kind of battered and bruised."

"We'll have you out in no time, sirs! Just sit back and relax."

Gratefully, they did exactly that, drifting off to sleep entwined in a mutual embrace.


End file.
